Steel is the judge

The blade sizzled as it was dropped into the cold, filthy water. Logan raised it slowly, looking for cracks and other imperfections. He smirked as he noticed a fly had become charred into the hot metal, near the tip. Clearing it away with a brush from his thick leather gloves, he then laid the sword out flat on the weapon rack to cool.

That was number thirteen today. For 21 years, Logan had been doing the same thing nearly every day: slaving away in a forge, learning the arts of weaponsmithing from the Dwarfs. He was treated like a lame mule by his hosts and paid just enough to get by, but Logan stayed for one reason: his home country, the Empire, needed quality weaponsmiths. Of course, his apprenticeship with the Dwarfs should have ended 11 years ago, but it seemed his superiors forgot about him. Eleven years ago, they should have sent for him, and they did not. So he stayed, working harder every day, driven by a newfound anger towards his former kingdom.

Logan thought back to a time when he was a young man, leaving the Empire and preparing to do his country an honorable service. There was a great feast held in honor of Logan and the other men who volunteered to train in smithing. Their services would be needed soon, said the Elector Count, who commanded these brave souls to go forth and bring back knowledge from the ancient forges of the Dwarven race. Little did Logan know that he would never return.

Skorri continued. "Well, he never returned yesterday. His group 'o scouties was up in them trees near the Four Rock Pass(1), and we heard lots o' noise from 'em, but they never reported none of it."

Logan looked into Skorri's eyes, and for the first time he thought he caught a glimpse of fear. Skorri was always everything but afraid.

"Anywary, we gonna get a party of folks together to get out there and look for 'em. You're gonna go with me."

Logan's heart jumped. This was the first time in over a year that he would venture further than the hold's main doors.

"We leave at nightfall. Best bring your best axe or what have ya. If you'se as smart as you smith, you'd bring a proper weapon like an axe, and not your manling-craft swords or what have ye. Can't cleave a grobbi(2) in two with a toothpick."

The day passed quickly, and Logan put on his gromril armor which Skorri made for him years ago. Gromil was as hard and strong as any metal known in the world, but was also very heavy, and required a strong being to bear it. Thankfully, years in a forge gave Logan the physique he needed.

Logan walked cautiously, as did the rest of the party. As they approached a clearing, Logan's eyes picked up a glittering in the near distance. A shield, surely of Dwarven craft, lay on the floor of the forest. Upon further inspection, the party noticed heavy scratches on the outside of the shield. It would take a huge beast to scratch a shield made of gromril.

The sun set behind the peak, tinting the clouds a beautiful purple. The sky was alight with beautiful colors, and Logan admired the place where he now resided, regardless of his lifestyle. He was a lucky man, indeed.

The Dwarfs knew immediately what to do. They formed a line, readied their axes, and prepared for the charge. Shields up, they recieved the first of the blows with a parry, and struck back at the mounts of the riders.

As the orc's blade was lodged into the ground, Skorri came up from behind and cleaved the horrible creature's arms clear off his body. He finished by nearly severing the creature at the waist, kicking the corpse aside and offering a hand to Logan. "Best if ya stick with me, Manling," said the Dwarf smithy. "I won't lose two friends in one week."

(1) - Four Rock Pass was the former site of the discovery of the great Dwarven hold known as Karak Azmak. It is a common route for traveling Dwarfs to use.

(2) - Grobbi is the Dwarven speech for "goblin."

(3) - The forest of Nuln is a former battlesite between the great armies of the Dwarf Lord Karik Highhammer and the Elven forces of Price Alrion, Lord of Nuln.

(4) - No one really knows what type of tree a Great Tree was. The term "Great Tree" was started by the humans, and passed along the other races. Elves called the trees by their Elvish name "Lilathalai," meaning "trees of the old world."

(5) - Greenskin was the common name for all manner of Orcs, Goblins and Trolls, and any other near relations to these vile races.